


The Lucky Ones

by Hobbitfing



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, I'm sorry!, M/M, Pugs Under the Mountain AU, Yes I am evil, but it really wanted to be written, it hurts me to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitfing/pseuds/Hobbitfing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin survived the Battle of Five Armies. </p><p>Fili and Kili did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo after the battle.

_This one dies first_

_Then the brother_

_Then you, Oakenshield_

* * *

Bilbo stayed with Thorin until Dwalin found them. He kept up a constant stream of chatter, pointing out the shapes of different ragged winter clouds that blew overhead—though he suspected that some of them might in fact be smoke—describing all the wonderful foods they would eat together when the battle was won and Erebor was restored, telling him all the best stories he could remember from the Shire, including the unlikely tale of his parents’ courtship and marriage. He carefully wiped away the tears that fell on Thorin’s still face, not sure if they were his own or Thorin’s, not wanting them to freeze there. He pressed himself against Thorin, stripping off as much of the dwarf’s armour as he could to make him more comfortable.

Thorin spoke, too. Sometimes to Bilbo, though never in response to what the hobbit was saying. It seemed that he was reliving moments of their adventures together, shouting at Bilbo (or sometimes Fili, or Kili, or another of the Company) to be careful.

He spoke to his sister, Dis, and Bilbo learned a lot about this formidable-sounding dwarvish lady by listening to Thorin’s rambling. He even spoke to his long-dead grandfather and missing father, though much of that was in the dwarves’ secret language and Bilbo couldn’t make out more than one word in a hundred. Every few minutes, he said, sorry, over and over.

But he wanted Thorin to keep talking, no matter that most of what he could understand was nonsense, at least to him, so he encouraged the dwarf to keep going by asking questions and responding where he could. Later, perhaps a little giddy and fueled by his terror and exhaustion, Bilbo even began changing his voice depending on who Thorin was speaking to, making up the voices of those he didn’t know.

“Bilbo? Bilbo! Thorin! They're over here, I’ve found them!”

Odd. That was Dwalin’s voice, but Thorin had been speaking to his grandfather, rumbling away in Khuzdul, and naturally Bilbo hadn’t been able to respond.

A moment later, the hobbit felt a warm, solid hand stroking his hair. “Bilbo? Lad? Can ye hear me?” Dwalin’s voice was harsh, his accent thicker than Bilbo had ever heard it.

“Dwalin? Is that really you?” Bilbo realized his eyes were shut, but he couldn’t open them. He began to panic, taking in great, swooping breaths that ended in sobs. “I can’t see!”

“Shh, it’s alright, lad. Your eyes’ve frozen shut.”

“Fr-frozen shut?!”

Those warm, solid hands moved to his face, gently cupping his cheeks. After a moment he felt water running down his face.

“Try to open them now.” Dwalin sounded so calm, so sure, that Bilbo couldn’t help but obey.

This time, his eyes opened easily, and he found himself staring up at a rough, shaggy black shape silhouetted against the sky. It took some time for Bilbo’s eyes to adjust enough to the brightness that he could make out any features. “Dwalin. It really is you.”

“Aye, it is. And it really is you.” Dwalin thumped Bilbo on the shoulder, then winced. “Sorry, lad. I didn’t hurt you?”

Bilbo laughed, his lips pulled tight as he tried not to cry. “I don’t care if you do, I’m just glad—“He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence.

Dwalin nodded, anyway, as though he understood perfectly well what Bilbo meant.

Thorin groaned, then laughed and said, “Dwalin’s coming home tonight!” in a delighted voice that, Bilbo imagined, was how he must have sounded when he was much, much younger and less trampled by the world.

Dwalin stiffened, his eyes wide. “He’s...alive?”

“Who, Thorin? Yes, he’s quite alive, though probably rather c-cold by now. So ‘m I, come to think of it.” Bilbo sniffled.

“Mahal’s...” Dwalin gathered them both up in his arms, openly weeping and pressing dwarf and hobbit close together.

Bilbo was quite thoroughly soaked in dwarf-tears and melted snow and a bit crushed to be honest, but it felt so good to be held against Dwalin’s solid chest, with Thorin’s face so close to his own that he could feel the dwarf’s every breath. And then he was very tired, and he thought how nice it would be to close his eyes for just a moment...but...

“Fili and Kili? Where are they?”

Leaning back so he could see their faces, Dwalin took a very deep breath, watching Thorin carefully. His king continued rambling, talking to people who were no longer there. “We’ll talk about that later, aye?”

“No! He’ll want to see them!” Bilbo could tell his voice was getting shrill, and he felt very close to breaking down and screaming at Dwalin, but at the moment nothing seemed more important than Thorin seeing his nephews again.

“Shush, lad, please. You’ll wake him.”

“I should bloody well hope so! He’s done nothing but talk to dead people for hours and hours while I waited with him for _you_ to come along, and you certainly took your sweet time about it!” Bilbo wasn’t being fair, and he knew it, especially as he saw the way Dwalin flinched at his words, but he couldn’t seem to make them stop.

“I know lad, and I’m sorry. It took us a while for me to find you, and...” Dwailn swallowed, hard.

“Please. Let’s come away from this place. Get you somewhere warm, get some food in ye. We’ll talk then. Please.”

Bilbo had never heard Dwalin sound like this, and it frightened him, and he very badly wanted both to be warm and fed, but somehow he couldn’t let it be. “If you can’t find them, I know where they are,” he said, crossly. “Fili fell over there, but he landed in the snow, so I’m sure he’s alright, and Kili was in the tower, but it’s alright because Azog’s dead, Thorin killed him, and I haven’t seen any orcs for a while, and if there were any around I’m sure they would’ve found us and killed us already, so I’m sure there aren’t. Any orcs.” And then he had to stop and take a breath.

A strange, horrible look crossed Dwalin’s face, one Bilbo couldn’t read. The dwarf opened and shut his mouth several times, then looked away.

Over Dwalin’s shoulder, Bilbo could see Balin leading a pair of goats with sleds harnessed to them, and he wasn’t sure who he was happier to see. He was thrilled that Balin was alive, of course, but at the moment it was the goats that really delighted him. Lovely things, goats. Big and warm and you could _ride_ them, and that meant you didn’t have to use your own legs at all, and that was just...lovely. He grinned to himself. Oh, but the sleds were already occupied, someone tucked onto each nice and snug under a blanket. But their faces were covered, too.

“Why’re their faces covered?”

“What? Oh, lad...” Dwalin stood, easily carrying Bilbo with him. “Let’s get away from here,” he repeated.

And then there was Bofur, leading a third goat with an empty sled, but before Bilbo could do anything more than smile at the newcomer, Dwalin had whisked him away. Bilbo watched as Thorin was loaded onto the sled and securely strapped in, only Bofur _didn’t_ cover his face and Bilbo wondered if it was going to get cold, and if they shouldn’t have covered it like the others’. He opened his mouth to say so, but what came out was, “I really would’ve rather ridden a goat.”

That startled a laugh out of Dwalin as he strode down the steep, icy hill with his arms full of hobbit. “You’re in no condition to ride anything, never mind a goat. It’s not like riding a pony, you know. No, you’re safe here, I’ve got you, and you don’t have to worry about me wandering off to find a tasty bit of scrub to chew on.”

On second thought—or possibly third—riding anything more than Dwalin did seem a bit much right now. Being gently rocked in Dwalin’s arms while the dwarf walked was quite soothing, and the sun, scattered by the pale winter clouds and reflected off the snow, was entirely too bright. I’ll just close my eyes for a moment, Bilbo thought, just for a moment, and then...

When he awoke, it was so dark that Bilbo was worried his eyelids had frozen shut again. He reached out to see if he could find Dwalin’s big warm hands to thaw them again, and felt a large, comforting bulk beside him, snoring away. Then he realized his eyes were already open, and it was just the room that was dark. He was very hungry—hungrier than he’d been after the goblin tunnels, even—and there was a delightful smell coming from somewhere nearby, so he slipped out of the rather musty-smelling bed, though he immediately regretted it. He felt bruised, battered and shaken from head to toe, and he was trembling so badly that he had to sit on the edge of the bed for a moment or he would’ve fallen. But the food smelled so good, and after all, it wasn’t as though the bed was going anywhere, but with dwarves about there was every chance the food was going somewhere, namely into tummies that weren’t his own, so he forced himself to get up again and tottered off in the direction of the smell, even though he was only wearing a clearly dwarvish tunic that, while much too large, still exposed more of his legs than was entirely proper. Sod it, he thought, I’ve just been through a battle. That thought made him stop, and he would’ve fallen if there hadn’t been a convenient chair nearby to catch himself on.

“I’ve just been through a _battle_ ,” he repeated, this time out loud.

“Aye, right you are, and I’m sure you’re starving, Mister Baggins.” And there was Gloin, with a splendidly-coloured bruise around one eye and a good chunk of beard missing on the opposite side, but otherwise intact.

And then he was surrounded by dwarves, his dwarves and ones who were new to him, and they were all hugging him and showering him with the most florid and patently ridiculous praise, as though he had single-handedly slain the dragon and Azog at the same time.

Dain forced his way through the crowd and lifted Bilbo off the ground to bang their heads together.

Bilbo winced and closed his eyes and tried to brace for the impact, and there was shouting all around him to _be careful_ and _he’s just a hobbit, you’ll break his skull!_ but at the last moment Dain slowed and lightly touched Bilbo’s brow with his own.

Dain set him on his feet again, and there were tears in his eyes and he smelled so strongly of ale that Bilbo felt a little lightheaded. He bent down close to the hobbit. “I hear you’re the reason my idiot cousin’s still alive. Thank you.”

“Idiot…oh, you mean Thorin? He’s alive because of himself. He’s the one who killed Azog! I just…” But no one was really listening. Dain thoroughly soaked the shoulder of his tunic with tears (and, frankly, Bilbo was a bit glad. It seemed like it had been a good long time since the tunic was washed), patted him on the head, and tottered off.

Thank goodness Balin, always the sensible one, appeared, with Dori pressed tightly to his side, and they both ushered him to a chair and brought him plate after plate of food until he began to feel almost like himself again, and they fussed over him (and each other) dreadfully but he was glad to have a bit of spoiling, honestly.

Looking around, he saw all of his dwarves except for Thorin, Fili, and Kili. Bofur tried to make his way over, but it seemed most of the new dwarves from the Iron Hills knew him and they kept stopping him. After a while he gave Bilbo a very endearing lop-sided smile and an apologetic shrug and gave up on trying to move.

Bilbo knew Thorin was alright, but…where were Fili and Kili?

* * *

_“Fee?”_

_“Kee! It’s alright, I’m here!”_

_“It’s dark, I can’t see you!” Kili reached out a hand, groping for his brother in the seemingly endless darkness._

_“I’m right here, see?”_

_And just like that, there was a light, and they could see one another. They ran into each others’ arms and held each other for a second, an eternity before Kili started looking around. “Where are we?”_

_They appeared to be at the end of a long, long hallway. There was no door, no opening of any kind, behind them, but torches were lit on either side of the hallway, showing that the stone walls were covered in stone carvings, finer than any the boys had ever seen before._

_Taking his brother’s hand, Kili led the way down the hall, pointing out intricate scenes. All of them depicted dwarves, and they all looked very old, though the carvings looked newly chiseled._

_“I know this one,” Fili said, “I remember Balin telling us about this battle!”_

_“I don’t remember anything about it.”_

_Fili snorted. “Hardly a surprise. You never paid much attention to anything he told us.”_

_“Fee, where are we?”_

_“I think…I think we’re dead. I think we’ve come into Mahal’s Halls.”_

_"I didn’t think it would be this literal! It’d better not be all one long hall.”_

_“Shall we keep going?”_

_“Well, we can’t go back.”_

_Hand in hand, they walked past endless carvings of their ancestors._


	2. Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili's funeral.

Fili and Kili’s funeral was divided into two parts—the outer ceremony everyone could attend, and the actual burial, which was exclusively for friends, family and the Company.

Not sure where he belonged, and not having been invited to the private ceremony, Bilbo hung back in the crowd outside the royal catacombs. He accepted hot cups of tea as they were passed to him, and unleavened mourning-bread, but he’d learned early into the quest to refuse dwarvish pipeweed unless he wanted to cough for half an hour and rasp for the rest of the day.

It was Bofur, passing through the outer gathering on some sort of inscrutable Bofur-mission, who found him.

“Bilbo! What’re you doing out here? You belong at the grave, with the rest of us.” Bofur’s hat was pulled so low that Bilbo couldn’t see his eyes, and he suspected it was on purpose, though Bofur had never shown any shame about crying before. “Standing out here drinking tea while the rest of us are waiting and looking for you!” He abruptly grabbed Bilbo and gripped him tight. “Sorry, lad, I didn’t mean to scold you. Come on now. You belong with the Company.”

Bilbo clutched Bofur back, just as desperately, breathing in the dwarf’s musky, leather and grease and smoke scent, his hands digging deeper and deeper into Bofur’s clothes as he tried not to cry.

Bofur gently detached him, kissed his forehead, and led him into the catacombs.

It was cold and echoey in these empty passages deep, deep within the mountain, and before long Bilbo was shivering. Seeing this, Bofur plopped his hat on Bilbo’s head, the very corners of his mouth quirking up in a smile at the sight. “There. We’ll make a proper dwarf out of you yet, won’t we?” His hand never left Bilbo’s shoulder, gently guiding him through tunnels that all seemed identical to Bilbo, and he knew he would have been immediately lost without the dwarf at his side.

“Have you been here before?”

“No, never.”

“How do you know the way?”

Bofur stopped, frowning down at Bilbo. “Well, I...no, I suppose it’s different for hobbits, isn’t it? You’ve heard us talk about stonesense, aye? Well, it’s a bit like that. I can _feel_ where the others are. You should be able to hear them singing before too much longer.”

Bilbo wouldn’t really have called it singing. It was a deep, constant, rumbling _sound_ , like far-off thunder or a rockslide, as if the earth itself was humming. It rose and fell without ceasing and made Bilbo a little afraid. He stayed close to Bofur’s side.

At last, after any number of turnings into unmarked passages, they entered a larger room. There, on a large dais, were two perfect carvings of the fallen princes, with all the members of the Company gathered around. The sound seemed to be coming from the dwarves, as far as Bilbo could tell, or at least he didn’t see any other source.

The statue of Kili was carved of a smooth, dark stone Bilbo didn’t recognize, scattered with sparkly flecks. The one of Fili was pinkish granite and had matching flecks. They were so lifelike that, aside from the colour of the stone, Bilbo could almost have believed that the princes were simply laying side by side, sleeping. They were holding hands.

Thorin lay on a litter, so still and quiet that he looked like a statue, himself, except that Dwalin was fussing over him, constantly re-tucking him in, adjusting his pillows and stroking his hair.

Dwalin was the first to see Bilbo enter, and his part of the song changed subtly.

As one, the other dwarves looked up and bowed to him, though their humming never ceased.

Bilbo shivered, from the solemnity of the moment and because he was still cold, even with Bofur’s hat.

Dwalin left Thorin’s side and, lifting the heavy fur from his own shoulders, draped it over Bilbo. “Thank you, lad,” he murmured, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulders briefly before returning to his king.

Bilbo turned to ask Bofur a question, but the dwarf had already joined the eerie song. His eyes were unfocused, his attention directed at the monument in the centre of the room.

Bifur and Bombur were there, of course, but they didn’t approach Bofur or Bilbo.

Just when Bilbo was starting to get restless and was making up his mind to speak up and ask Bofur what exactly was going on and when the funeral was going to begin, the humming stopped, leaving the room deadly silent.

In pairs or alone, the dwarves began to leave the tomb without a word to one another or to Bilbo. Dwalin lifted one end of Thorin’s litter and Gloin took the other, and they carried him away before Bilbo could bring himself to break that dreadful stillness and speak to any of them.

As soon as they’d left the chamber, as though the room were under a spell of silence, Bilbo could hear the dwarves speaking quietly to one another.

“When will Lady Dis be arriving?” Gloin, Bilbo thought.

“Ahh...we sent her a raven, after the battle. She’s decided...” Balin cleared his throat, “she’s decided to remain in Ered Luin for the time being. To supervise the relocation of those who are coming to Erebor.”

“Aye, there’s no hurry. Not...” They must have rounded a corner, because Bilbo could no longer hear them.

“Bofur,” Bilbo whispered once all the other dwarves were gone. He was a little surprised to hear his voice break the silence. “I don’t understand. I thought the princes were to be buried today.”

“They were, lad. Don’t you see them?”

“Yes, I understand, they’re beneath the statues. Were they buried before I got here?”

Bofur cocked his head in confusion. “Beneath the...what happens to hobbits when they die?”

“Bofur! What kind of question is that? ...why, what happens to dwarves when they die?”

“We turn to stone, lad.”

“You mean...literally? Those are...really them?”

Bofur nodded. “They were carried here and arranged, and then we waited until they turned.”

Bilbo shivered again. Just when he thought he knew and understood dwarves, that they were letting him into their world, he was reminded of just how little he actually knew about them, how different they were from hobbits. “Hobbits just...return to the earth.” He had a sudden, vivid memory of his parents’ funeral, the coffins sitting side by side in front of the single hole that had been dug for them. Bungo’s had been ash wood, painted with flowers and vines and all the little birds he’d loved to listen to. Belladonna’s had been a strange, dark wood that no one in the Shire recognized, carved with heavy designs that, it occurred to Bilbo in retrospect, had actually been quite dwarvish.

“Like men.”

“I suppose so. I don’t know much about men.” Bilbo stared at the statues—the bodies—of the princes for a moment longer, silently telling them how much they would be missed, for a safe journey to wherever it was dwarves went after they died, that they’d been taken too young. Though, it occurred to Bilbo, they had both been older than his parents had been when they’d died, for all that they’d acted like puppies. “Let’s get out of here. Please.”

“Of course.” Bofur led him out of the catacombs and back into the life of Erebor. It seemed as though even more dwarves had arrived during the short time Bilbo had been below, and all at once it seemed far too much for him.

Bofur, always perceptive of others’ needs, seemed to notice Bilbo’s discomfort. “Want to go someplace quieter, lad?”

Bilbo nodded. Even speaking seemed beyond him at the moment.

He spent the night curled in Bofur’s arms. They were both naked, but Bilbo was in no mood for any sort of touch beyond simple affection, and if Bofur wanted more he didn’t say or do anything to suggest it. They held each other, and that was enough.

* * *

_“Look! Here we are!” It seemed they’d been walking for an age, and as though they’d just begun, when Kili spotted a pair of familiar-looking dwarves. They’d more or less stopped looking at the carvings after a while, all the lifetimes of all the dwarves portrayed running together into an endless line of creation, battle and death. “I don’t understand. Are we sleeping? Why is everyone just standing around staring at us?”_

_“I think those’re our tombs, Kee. This is our funeral.”_

_“Oh. Well, I don’t want to look at that. Let’s back up a bit.” They watched their lives in reverse, from the quest, to their childhoods. Kili was especially interested in the time before he’d been born. “Were you lonely, before I came along?”_

_“Don’t remember. But amad and Thorin said I didn’t speak. My first word was_ Kee _, and that was before you were born.”_

_Kili laughed and tried to imagine not talking for five years. “You’re silly. What would you have done without me?”_

_“Been sad and lonely. Good thing we’re here together.”_

_“Don’t you dare ever leave me!” Kili grabbed his brother’s hand and they walked further back. “I think this is just after the battle. Look how sad mama is.” He glanced at Fili, hoping his brother wouldn’t think he was a coward. “I don’t really want to see any more.”_

_“Good. Me neither.”_

_Kili grinned, relieved. “Look! There’s a door in front of us!”_

_“There wasn’t earlier, I could’ve sworn…”_

 _“I’m sick of this hallway! Let’s go see what’s on the other side!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently each chapter's going to end with a bit of the Afterlife Adventures of Fee and Kee?


	3. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's winter in Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The names of Bombur and Bifur's spouses are taken from [Thorinsmut's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut) amazing [A Ladle and Some Stew](http://archiveofourown.org/works/789649/chapters/1491370). Stonesense is also Thorinsmut's. 
> 
> Thanks to [Blue_Sparkle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/pseuds/Blue_Sparkle) for suggesting Gloin's wife's name and consulting about her character.

Every time Bilbo tried to prepare to leave, another caravan of dwarves arrived, and everyone wanted to meet him. After a while there were so many that not even he, who could name any hobbit on sight and list their entire family tree going back at least seven generations, could keep track, but he was always friendly and tried to seem genuinely interested, even though what he wanted more often than not was to retreat to the room he’d begun sharing with Bofur and be alone, or with his dwarf.

There were some he remembered. Gloin’s wife and son were among the first to arrive, though it was several days before he’d allow them out of his sight and let others meet them. Gimli was a gruff, quiet lad who, even though he seemed younger than Fili or Kili had been, had a much fuller beard. Gloin’s wife, Imlís, had seemed very stern and rather reserved at first, though Bilbo had caught her smacking Gloin’s rear when she didn’t think anyone was looking.

A few days later, Bifur and Bombur’s families arrived, in a tumble of more red-haired dwarflings than Bilbo could keep track of. He couldn’t even count them, because they didn’t stay still long enough. Bifur’s wife, Lari, was with them, though Bilbo didn’t see much of her or her husband. He quickly grew very fond of Bombur’s wife, Mirra, and he was happy for the distraction of young dwarves (my, they got heavy young!) climbing all over him, tugging the hair on his feet, and loudly demanding to be told stories and all sorts of increasingly private questions about his relationship with their uncle. Bofur would wade in and rescue his hobbit when he showed signs of being overwhelmed. How in the world, Bilbo wondered, had such rambunctious children come from someone so quiet and reserved as Bombur? Certainly Mirra was more outgoing than her husband, but, compared to many of the dwarves, she was very mellow. The children were always quick to obey her, though she never raised her voice to them, no more than she needed to in order to be heard over the din.

And more and more dwarves kept on arriving. All around him, families were reuniting, returning with their children to a home that had been lost so long ago. Bofur made a point of spending a great deal of time with his hobbit, but Bilbo could of course understand that he wanted—and needed—to spend time with his extended family. They all made a genuine effort to include him in their activities, but he got tired so quickly these days, it seemed, and he usually had to excuse himself early so he could try and find a quiet place to sit, which was becoming more and more difficult as dwarves filled the mountain. The echoing halls, which had seemed so endless and roomy, began to feel cramped and suffocating. Bilbo longed to be outside in his garden, and was restless to begin his journey home.

The only bother was Thorin. Whether it was on purpose or not, the dratted dwarf had refused to see him. At first it was quite understandable—Thorin had just been through a dreadful battle, he was healing, and he’d lost his nephews besides. But not once, _not once_ had Bilbo been permitted to visit him, even for a moment. He could tell by the evasive way Dwalin answered all his questions about Thorin, and the way his eyes slid sideways when confronted directly about whether or not Thorin was avoiding him that it was no longer a simple matter of Thorin being too injured or weak to see him, but he just shook his head sadly when Bilbo pressed him for more information. Nori had an uncanny ability to appear and urgently require Dwalin whenever Bilbo cornered the big dwarf, and after a while Bilbo gave up.

Most of the other dwarves were very busy, either with their families or the restoration of Erebor, and none of them would answer his questions directly when he enquired about Thorin. It was maddening. They all—Company and new-comers—treated him with the utmost respect, and he could’ve written a book of all the speeches in his honour, but on the subject of Thorin Oakenshield, the entire bloody mountain seemed to have taken a vow of silence when it came to Bilbo Baggins, esq.

“Here, lad, it breaks my heart to see you moping around like this.” Bofur sat beside Bilbo on the bed they shared more often than not, draping an arm across the hobbit’s shoulders.

“I’m not...moping.” For a moment Bilbo was tempted to shove Bofur off but that wasn’t fair. He knew Bofur was only trying to comfort him. If Bofur had seen Thorin, he was better at hiding it than the others, and Bilbo didn’t pester him for information. He grabbed the dwarf’s big, rough hand and gave it a firm squeeze instead.

“They’ve just gotten the baths working. I’ve never been, but the baths of Erebor are legendary. Do you a world of good, you’ll see.”

They’d all been making do with a quick rinse and the promise that baths were one of the top priorities of the restoration team. Good thing, too, Bilbo thought, with so many dwarves, all of them working very hard and sweating so much. Not to mention all the sex...

“That does sound lovely, but I’m really not in the mood for company. Besides you, of course.”

“Ah, that’s the best bit. I’ve reserved us a bath, just for the two of us. For hours.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile back at him. With that, Bofur scooped up his hobbit and carried him to the baths, “like the princess you are.”

The renovations clearly weren’t done, but there were a number of functional baths, most of them very large and full of hairy, laughing dwarves. Bofur carried Bilbo past these into a small, tiled changing-room with smooth stone benches. The room was surprisingly airy and light for dwarves, and Bilbo felt a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying lift from his shoulders.

“Aye, there’s a good lad.” Bofur set Bilbo on a bench, knelt in front of him, and began unbuttoning his waist-coat.

An army of dwarvish tailors had measured Bilbo for new clothes that didn’t reek of dwarf (at least until Bofur got hold of him), and Bilbo hadn’t minded that attention. They’d been quiet and patient and complimented his choices of style and fabric.

“There’s my lad,” Bofur purred, undoing the top several buttons of Bilbo’s shirt and sliding his hands beneath it to the hobbit’s shoulders. “Poor wee thing, you’ve been so tense. Let me take care of you.”

Bilbo could only nod, his head sinking forward until it rested on Bofur’s. “What would I do without you?” he whispered, hoping Bofur didn’t mind a few tears in his hair.

Bofur kissed his forehead and gently peeled his shirt off. “Hush, now, I’m here.”

When they were both naked—though Bofur was so hairy, it was a little difficult to tell when he was undressed—Bofur picked Bilbo up again and carried him into the next room, the bath itself. The air was full of steam and fragrance, and the room was breathtaking. It was tiled with pictures of dwarves and animals, some of which Bilbo had never seen before. He made Bofur tell him what each of them were, and though he suspected Bofur himself wasn’t sure and had in fact made some of the names up, he didn’t mind.

Bofur lowered his hobbit into the warm, gently flowing water. “I had them cool it off a bit for you. I’m pretty sure ‘hot’ for a dwarf would be ‘boiling’ for a hobbit.”

Bilbo had noticed that dwarves were a fair bit warmer than him, and could handle things with their bare hands that would have been uncomfortable with gloves for a hobbit. “It’s perfect,” he groaned, sinking into the water and tilting his head back until only his face was exposed. It was so quiet and peaceful down here, the only sounds coming from Bofur as he slid into the water beside Bilbo. They sat, pressed together, enjoying each other’s closeness and company without speaking. Bofur fetched a washcloth, some soap and an ewer, and he washed Bilbo very gently from head to toe.

They kissed a little, and it was clear from the state of Bofur’s cock that he might have been interested in more, but Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to feel aroused. He pushed away from the edge, standing on his tiptoes in the deeper water. “I’m sorry...”

“Oh, lad...you have nothing to be sorry for. Pay him no mind. If snuggling’s all you’re up for, that’s all we’ll do.”

And then Bilbo was crying, for what seemed like the thousandth time since the battle, and yet again he couldn’t have said what had set him off. He allowed himself to be gathered into Bofur’s sturdy arms and held in the warm water until he fell asleep.

* * *

There hadn’t been any caravans for a few days, no new arrivals clamouring for Bilbo’s attention, so he began to pack in earnest for his journey home. The mountain, which had looked so forlorn and ominous to him even at a distance, now felt positively oppressive. Everywhere he went, he could feel Thorin’s presence, reflected in the stern-faced carvings of his ancestors. Sometimes Bilbo imagined he could smell the dwarf.

There wasn’t all that much to pack, really—he’d be leaving most of the fine clothes the dwarves had made him here, as he had plenty at home. He hadn’t been able to bear returning to the treasure room to pick out even the smallest of trinkets, and the very thought of touching any of that cursed hoard made him feel ill. He wanted no part in it. He had Sting, and the cloak Dwalin had given him at the beginning of their adventure and insisted he keep, no matter how many times he’d tried to give it back, and that was all he wanted.

He was trying to explain to the stable-master that no, he didn’t want to take a pony out for a short ride, he wanted to go _home_ when Bofur found him.

“Trying to sneak off, lad?”

“Of course not. Just...making preparations.”

They hadn’t spoken about whether or not Bofur would be traveling with Bilbo when he left. Bilbo knew how delighted Bofur was to have all his family together again, and he also knew that, happy as Bofur made him, he had to get out of the mountain as quickly as possible.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck here a while yet, lad. Haven’t you noticed the caravans have stopped coming in?”

“I have.” The last had included a letter from Dis, informing them that she’d be spending the winter in Ered Luin.

“There’ll be no more travel until spring. The roads and passes are too thick with snow.”

Blinking back tears and feeling deeply ashamed of his ignorance, Bilbo thanked the stable-master and left the warmth and smell of ponies, goats and oxen, aware that Bofur was following him.

“Sorry, lad, I thought you knew. You’re stuck with me a little longer.”

When they were safely back in their rooms, Bilbo finally worked up the courage to ask, “You’re not coming with me in the spring, are you?”

Bofur chewed his lower lip and played with the ends of his braids. “No, lad, I’m afraid not.”

For all the crying he’d been doing, Bilbo felt surprisingly calm. He nodded.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just...”

“I know. You don’t have to explain. Your family is here.”

Bofur nodded. “I love you. You know that.”

Bilbo nodded again. He did, though neither of them had said it before, and it hurt so much to hear it now that for a moment he thought his heart had stopped. “I know. Please...” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for. He wanted to crawl into Bofur’s arms and beg the dwarf to lie to him, tell him everything would be alright and they’d be together forever, no matter what, but he also wanted to scream at him, tell him he hated him and never wanted to see him again. He was shocked by how much emotion he felt, and how little of it showed on the outside.

“Want me to shove off for a bit?” Bofur clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, awkward for the first time.

“Please.”

Bofur left, his hand lingering. 

* * *

_The door was massive and ornate and a little intimidating, but they could feel warmth and happiness coming from the other side and they weren’t afraid. Kili seized one huge, brass ring and pulled open the left-hand door while Fili did the same with the right. Just a moment of hesitation, standing side by side, a deep breath taken as one, and they stepped through together._

_The hall beyond was massive, so large that they couldn’t see the far end or either side. It stretched on and on, far larger than any room the princes had ever imagined, and it was full of dwarves. They were drinking and feasting, laughing and shouting, wrestling and dancing. Music and good smells filled the air. There were signs overhead, pointing to rooms for other dwarvish occupations—smithing, mining, archery, to baths and bedrooms. All the things that had ever delighted the heart of a dwarf were here, under one roof._

_Kili found his brother’s hand and squeezed it tightly, a little overwhelmed._

_Fili was in just as much awe and he squeezed back, staring at the wonders around him._

_“My lads!” A young dwarf who bore a remarkable resemblance to Fili—or, Fili realized, probably the other way around—leapt up from his seat and ran over to the new arrivals, gathering them both up in a bone-creaking embrace._

_“Fee? Who is this?” Kili hissed in his brother’s ear, smiling awkwardly at the dwarf who was crushing him._

_“I think he’s our da,” Fili replied, a tear rolling down his jaw._

_“Right you are! I’m Firi, your father. Clever lad, aren’t you? And don’t you look just like me!” Firi leaned back just enough that he could press his forehead to Fili’s, though Fili had to bend down a little to reach._

_Strange, he thought, being taller than your father._

_“And you must be Kili, there’s no mistaking you! Look just like your mother, you do...but that look in your eye, that’s entirely from me.” And he pressed his forehead to his other son’s, too._

_The three of them stayed like that for a long moment, feeling each other’s warmth, learning each other’s scents, grieving for all the time they’d missed together, but rejoicing in the fact that they now had forever to make up for it._

_“Ah, but I’m being selfish. The others’ll want to meet you, too!”_

_And then they were surrounded by dwarves, all calling out greetings to the young princes._

_“Guess this means I’ll never get a proper beard,” Kili muttered, glancing around. Firi’s beard was only as long and thick as Fili’s, and there were others with less even than that._

_“Does it matter?”_

_Kili thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think it does after all.”_

_The next to greet them was Frerin, the uncle who’d died before Kili had been born and Fili was old enough to remember him. He was younger than either of them, and all three laughed about that, an uncle being younger than his nephews even though he’d been born first. He and Kili were so much alike that they were quickly trying to outdo one another with tales of their misadventures._

_Both boys were grabbed from behind and lifted into the air by a pair of massive arms and held tightly. “I’ve been wanting to meet you, only I’m sorry it’s so soon.” Setting them down, the huge, scarred dwarf bowed so deeply his enormous beard touched the flagstones. “Fundin, son of Farin, at your service.”_

_And both Fili and Kili wept, because he reminded them so much of Dwalin, who they both missed, and knew must be missing them dreadfully._

_And there were their grandfathers, Thrain and his husband, and their great-grandfather Thror with his wife, and everyone had questions about Fili and Kili and those still living._

_There were tears and laughter in equal portions, and the princes were ushered to a table to join in the feasting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty sad when Fili and Kili in the afterlife is the _happy_ bit :'(


	4. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo goes home--with some unexpected companions.

Winter locked them in the mountain.

Dain had left with those of his warriors who were returning to the Iron Hills, late enough that there had been plenty of muttering that he was mad, and he’d be lucky to make it home at all, but the ravens sent word that the enclave had reached home safely.

With Dis not yet there and Thorin incapacitated, Balin had taken charge of organizing the mountain. “Only,” he insisted, whenever he got the chance, “only until Lady Dis or Thorin assume their rightful place.” There was more muttering, doubt that either of them ever would. And now there were no heirs to be had from either of them, and Dori’s middle was definitely thickening.

Bilbo was quietly disgusted by the fickleness of the dwarves. They hadn’t supported Thorin on his quest, and now that he’d reclaimed the mountain for them, how quick they were to throw him over for a new leader.

“It’s not like that, lad,” Bofur assured him.

After a few days apart, Bilbo had realized that he didn’t want to spend what time he did have with Bofur hiding in his room. It still hurt that Bofur wouldn’t be returning home with him, but he didn’t have it in his heart to be angry with the dwarf. They had become even closer, attempting a few tentative forays into sex for the first time since Lake Town.

They’d had to stop a few times before either of them had finished because Bilbo started sobbing or shaking uncontrollably, but Bofur never made him feel guilty and was always gentle and understanding.

“They’re afraid, that’s all. Everything was supposed to be set, see? Thorin would be king, with Fili to follow him, and Kili just in case, and Dis to step in as needed.”

Bilbo had heard them being referred to as ‘the heir’ and ‘the spare’ and hadn’t liked it even before their deaths.

“And now...well, in a way we’ve lost all four of them.”

* * *

Dwalin threw off his dripping wet hood, heading further into the mountain where he hoped to find Bilbo. He was carrying a small, wet bundle. He knew Bilbo needed a distraction, and he hoped he had just the thing. The hobbit had been picking at his food. They’d had more—and more variety—each day as dwarves had continued to arrive, but as it was winter there was nothing fresh. Most of it was traveling food, some variation of twice-baked, salted, smoked or pickled. Though that wasn’t, Dwalin suspected, the only reason Bilbo wasn’t eating.

“Bilbo!” Dwalin smiled when he saw the hobbit, tossing his cloak aside. “Still not eating?”

Bilbo smiled back, faintly, holding up the slice of ham he was holding. It was barely nibbled.

Dwalin frowned, sitting beside him. “I have something that might cheer you.” He offered Bilbo the little bundle and pulled it open. Two small, bug-eyed dogs popped their heads out. One of them snorted, then sneezed.

“Oh! Are those the dogs from...?” Bilbo held out a hand for slobbery kisses. “Oh, the poor dears! Wherever did you find them? They must be hungry.” He offered his ham, tearing it neatly in two.

They devoured it loudly, licking their chops.

“They followed the men from Lake Town. They need someone to take care of them,” he said, staring pointedly at Bilbo.

“Well, of course they do!” Bilbo lifted one of the solid little dogs out, holding it against his body for warmth and support. “Thank you, Dwalin,” he said, touched. “I’ve…well, I’ve been feeling a bit useless, honestly. I can’t help with the restoration, or healing, or…It’ll be nice to have someone to care for. Thank you.” He leaned in to kiss Dwalin’s hairy cheek, cheerful dogs pressed between them.

“I thought they might help.” Dwalin grinned. “Just don’t overfeed them. They’re already pretty plump.” He ruffled one of the dogs’ ears and its skin rolls jiggled. “I don’t know if they have names.”

“We’ll need to find them a basket or something to sleep in. Oh! And we’ll need leashes and collars for them.”

“I’ll find a rope for that. Maybe I can tie them harnesses until we can get proper collars made.” Dwalin smiled, glad to see Bilbo so energetic—and, he could admit to himself, to get away from Thorin for just a few minutes.

“I’ve never had a pet before,” Bilbo admitted.

“My father let us have goat kids while we were growing up.” Dwalin stole a scone from Bilbo’s plate and spoke around a mouthful of crumbs. “They were a lot more trouble than these little dogs will be.” He stood and patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “I’ll find you some rope.”

“Could I—could we—come with you?”

“Of course,” Dwalin agreed, scooping up the little black dog, leaving the paler one for Bilbo.

* * *

Having the funny little dogs to care for helped the winter pass more easily for Bilbo. He named the fawn one Acorn and the black one Tomato.

He didn’t see Thorin once. He heard only whispers and rumours—Thorin wasn’t well, but he was alive. Apparently he was seeing almost no one aside from Dwalin, who Bilbo also saw little of.

He enjoyed his time with Bofur, knowing it would soon come to an end and they would probably never see one another again.

As soon as word came that the land was clear enough for travel, Bilbo once again packed his belongings and said his good-byes. Gandalf was to meet him and be his escort home, but Bilbo was prepared to leave with or without him. The first pale, delicate buds were just appearing on the trees, the snow was almost entirely gone, and he needed to be far, far away from the Lonely Mountain. And there was the wizard, waiting for him on the far side of the repaired bridge leading to Erebor’s great entrance. Bilbo sighed with relief and urged his pony into a reluctant trot.

“Well. Ready to go home, Mister Baggins?”

Bilbo’s voice caught in his throat, so he nodded instead of speaking. The pugs were loaded into special kennels that hung from his pony’s saddle, and he heard one of them yip to the other, who answered with a snort.

They had nearly reached the far side of Dale, as busy with reparations as Erebor, with men swarming all over and shouting to one another, when they heard a familiar voice behind them cry, “Wait!”

Bilbo whirled, and there was Ori, bouncing along on a splendidly round pony who looked none too eager to be out of his stable. He was piled with saddlebags bursting with scrolls and books, and both dwarf and pony were out of breath. Bilbo and Gandalf stopped to allow Ori to catch up with them.

“Ori! What in the world are you doing here?”

His pony was carrying far more than Bilbo’s or Gandalf’s horse, so they took a moment to redistribute the load. Ori’s pony groaned and looked like he might fall asleep.

“I’m coming with you,” Ori said, sounding very determined.

“Without your brothers?” Bilbo craned his neck to look around Ori, fully expecting to see Dori, Nori or both charging down the path to snatch their baby brother back to the safety of the mountain. Well, probably Dori. He suspected Nori might just hand him a bag and some knives and send his younger brother on his merry way.

“Yes.” Ori frowned quite fiercely. “Mister Balin has tasked me with...with...er, studying hobbit society. I’m to send regular reports back to him. Oh. If you don’t mind, Mister Bilbo. That is...that’s terribly rude of me, assuming I can come and live with you...”

“Of course you’re welcome, Ori.” It was fairly obvious to Bilbo that Ori was lying, and that he was here entirely of his own accord, without permission of any kind.

There had been talk, early on, of Dwalin accompanying Bilbo on his journey home, but with the state Thorin was in, he didn’t feel able to leave his king’s side. That, and his relationship with Nori. No one had told Bilbo anything—these were dwarves, after all. Something as simple as coming out and telling someone directly wasn’t in their nature—but he was given to understand that Nori had taken up some sort of very important spying/protection duties in the mountain that he couldn’t walk away from without endangering everyone. So Dwalin sent his regrets and his love, but couldn’t go on any journeys at the moment.

Bilbo had known, or at least suspected, very early on that Dwalin and Nori were interested in one another, no matter how vigorously they both denied it And he had been proven right, of course, though his triumph had been somewhat spoiled by the aftermath of the battle. Saying ‘I told you so’ hadn’t seemed like much fun at the time.

As for Dori, he was very involved with Balin’s management of the mountain, and clearly took great pride in his position. It might be a few days before he noticed Ori was missing, and Bilbo didn’t have the heart to make the young dwarf turn back. Besides, despite what his brothers—Dori in particular—thought, Bilbo had seen Ori fight and was more than impressed with his abilities. He’d feel much safer with a dwarf at his back, wizard or no.

He’d noticed, too, how very close Ori had been with the two princes. There had been talk of marriage, before...He could definitely understand Ori’s desire to get away from a mountain that could only remind him of his lost loves. “I’d love to have you.”

At last, Bilbo was on his way home.

* * *

_“I think this will interest both of you.” Thrain led his grandsons to a small, quiet room, carved entirely from smooth, living stone. There was a square pedestal in the exact centre, carved from the same rock. It held a pool of smoky, shimmery liquid. As the young princes stared at it, not understanding, a scene formed on the surface._

_“It’s Ori!” Kili waved, frantically._

_“He can’t see or hear you, lad,” Thrain told him, sadly. “But you can watch him. Watch all your loved ones.”_

_“What’s he doing? It looks like he’s on a pony. And look, there’s Bilbo and Gandalf!” Kili splashed at the liquid, trying to make it show more of their surroundings._

_The scene changed again, and they watched Bilbo, Ori and Gandalf ride in a line, make camp, and continue the next morning._

_“I think they’re taking Bilbo home,” Fili murmured. “Oh, good! I was worried Ori would just sit around that dusty old mountain—sorry, gran-da—and be sad forever.”_

_They sat and watched their friends for a time, making sure they were safe and knowing there was nothing they could do if they weren’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pugs! Pugs are happy things! The Pugs Under the Mountain AU belongs to [Ewebean](http://ewebean.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also I totally cheated for part of this chapter...I just typed up a roleplay my wife and I had already done about Dwalin bringing Bilbo the pugs.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [We Are The Lucky Ones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zt66jT1nMHU) by Bif Naked. It got stuck in my head while I was thinking about this fic before I started writing it and it seemed like a good fit!


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